


Run Rabbit, Run

by reywritethestar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Ben is besotted, Bodyguard Romance, F/M, Mafia AU, POV Rey (Star Wars), Palpatine is a creep (as per usual), Rey Needs A Hug, Rey is the Whitney Houston to Ben's Kevin Costner, as per usual, it's the glitzy underbelly of arms dealing so idk, kind of??, these tags are longer than the actual fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24233689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reywritethestar/pseuds/reywritethestar
Summary: "If I may give one last piece of advice, my dear."Rey freezes, one foot on the marble step."Money is power, and these people have it. You would do well to remember that."Or: A Bodyguard AU where Rey is set to inherit a horrific legacy and Ben is her only hope.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	Run Rabbit, Run

**Author's Note:**

> Hi gang, this drabble was inspired by one of galacticidiots' prompts on twitter. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I currently live on[Twitter](https://twitter.com/reywritethestar), come and say hi!

Another evening, another function, Rey muses as she surveys the room with a cool gaze. Piano music drifts over the heads of the rich and beautiful, bedazzled and stiff in their crisp suits and too-tight dresses as they mingle, clink glasses and laugh in unison: cogs in a well-oiled machine. 

A hand suddenly grips her wrist, cold and clammy against her skin. 

"My dear," a smooth voice, slightly ragged at the edges with age, comes from behind her, "you should be down there." It sounds like a gentle suggestion, but Rey knows it’s anything but. She turns towards the man and plasters a sunny smile on her face, trying to inject what little warmth she can muster into her features. 

"Don't worry, I was just getting some air. I think I ate too much caviar," Rey pulls a rueful, what-can-you-do face as she subtly wriggles her wrist free from under the man’s iron grip.

He regards her with eyes a gunmetal grey, his face pasty and sunken. Her skin prickles under his stare, feeling like an ant under a magnifying glass. "I expect better of you, Rey." 

Her name sounds slimy in his mouth. He steps closer, examining her brooch on her black dress: two guns crossed in an X, the symbol of her grandfather's legacy: Palpatine Export Dynamics. She hates it with a burning passion. He taps a gnarled finger against the steel, his fingernails yellowed from tobacco. His breath reeks of expensive champagne as he leans closer still. 

"Need I remind you of your importance to the future of this company? I have given you everything a child could want or need, and you repay me...how? By frittering away these evenings by scoffing yourself and hiding in the shadows," he finishes with a sneer.

He steps away as a pair of women come tottering down the corridor towards them. Once they pass, Rey seizes her chance to escape back into the crowd below them and starts towards the stairs. 

"If I may give one last piece of advice, my dear."

Rey freezes, one foot on the marble step. "Money is power, and these people have it. You would do well to remember that." 

With a curt nod, Rey turns and flees as gracefully as she can, her stilettos echoing hollowly on the stone. She tries to fight the rising panic within her as she melts back into the party. Usually, she would do so by camping out by the refreshments table, but one glance up at the balcony tells her that's not an option. She can feel her grandfather watching her every move for the rest of the evening as she talks to suave men with bodyguards skulking around them, laughs when she's meant meant to, and nods in agreement when women weighed down by silver and diamonds gripe about how inconvenient the new control measures for land-based weapons are. 

By the end of it all, Rey feels sick to the pit of her stomach, and she's certain it isn't the caviar. She's just about to slip into the gardens (all these swanky London hotels are the same) when a hand slips into hers. Rey is about to tear away from this new, lecherous guest and tell them to sod off, money and the family company be damned, until she notices the ring. 

To the casual viewer, it's nothing but a band of sterling silver engraved with an olive branch. Nice enough, but much too plain for the caliber of guest that frequents this type of function. To Rey, it's anything but plain. To her it's a lifeline, an escape from this life, a possibility of peace. Her last hope. 

All too aware of wandering eyes, Rey puts on a demeanor of pleasant vacancy, the one the guests eat up, and meets his eyes. 

Ben. 

"Care to dance?" He's also feigning indifference, polite and professional as always, but beneath his blank expression Rey can see the telltale dimple forming whenever he is with her. 

"Of course." She feels herself relax as Ben draws her close to him, one hand cradling the small of her back while the other clasps her hand, steady and sure as he guides her among the other waltzing couples, the ring glinting in the corner of her eye. 

It's not unusual for guests to dance with their bodyguards, so no one bats an eyelid as Ben twirls them across the floor. For the first time all evening, Rey feels the knot in her stomach slowly unravel - she takes a full breath and looks up into Ben's eyes, her not as strained as before. He's already looking at her, but his beautiful olive eyes, usually glinting with mischief, are dark and solemn. 

"We don't have much time, Rey," he rushes out in a hurried whisper as his eyes dart around, constantly surveying for threats. 

Dread begins to pool in her stomach as she realises something is very, very wrong. 

"What is it, Ben? Just tell me," Rey begins to look up at the balcony but Ben whips them around, obscuring her vision. 

" _Don’t_ look at him," he says in a low voice. This is the most panicked Rey has ever seen him, including the time their escort car crashed. The knot in her stomach grows threefold. 

"What-" she has to clear her throat and start over, her mouth is so dry, "what's going on?" Rey is careful to keep her expression blank, but Ben must read the panic in her eyes because he gathers her closer to him still, hunching slightly as if to shield her from view, from all the corruption and blood money and greed that not even the most beautiful clothes, the most dazzling jewels can conceal. 

Arms dealing is the ugliest business of them all.

“He knows, Rey," It's lucky Ben is holding her, because her knees almost give out. 

"How?" Rey whispers. She'd been so careful, so meticulous in covering her tracks. 

"I don't know," Ben admits as they sidestep a particularly drunk couple without missing a beat, "do you remember our place?" 

Rey nods. Of course she remembers. 

"Good, meet me there. Don't go home." 

With that, his lips brush against her temple in the ghost of a kiss. They go their separate ways, acting as if Rey's whole world hasn't just been razed to the ground. 


End file.
